


untitled

by athousandsmiles



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, Neverland (Once Upon a Time)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:29:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4112356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athousandsmiles/pseuds/athousandsmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everyone speaks the language of the Lost Boys. Emma Swan is fluent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled

**Author's Note:**

> There's a resurgence of Neverland fics happening on tumblr. I got inspired to throw mine into the mix. This is just a missing scene between Emma and Hook that takes place during Lost Girl. The opening scene of the fic is taken directly from the episode, including the dialogue.

__

_Not everyone speaks the language of the Lost Boys. Emma Swan is fluent._

“So just how did you unlock the map?” Hook asks, his fingers shifting against hers as he passes his flask into her hand.

She takes a swig before answering, then replies with a shrug, swiping her tongue along her lips to catch a stray drop of rum.

“I did what Pan asked.”

His voice drops to a level of intimacy that she tries (and fails) to ignore as she returns the flask to his hand. “Just who are you, Swan?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she retorts, and it’s meant to be flippant, but it comes out all wrong, a husky murmur that borders on flirtatious, their hands brushing together again for a fleeting moment, even as she tries to avoid touching him.

“Perhaps I would,” he murmurs, and her eyes widen for a second before she retreats in every sense of the word, her gaze drifting away, her shoulders stiff as she moves around him to rejoin the others, back to where it’s safer (for her heart).

Later that night she finds him sitting on a log just at the perimeter of their campsite, facing half in and half out toward the jungle like he can’t decide whether he belongs with the others or not. She knows the feeling all too well. It’s that feeling, in fact, that has her seeking him out while the others sleep. Her emotions are scraped raw after unlocking the map and confessing to Mary Margaret (her mother— and she wonders if that’s ever not going to be weird) that she still feels like an orphan. And it’s only with him, in this oppressive jungle, that she feels any sense of belonging, which is both comforting and unsettling at the same time.

Settling gently beside him, she lifts his flask from his grasp and takes a swig without waiting for permission. He raises one eyebrow, but refrains from making any innuendos even as she darts her tongue out to lick the remains of rum from her lips. 

“Can’t sleep, Swan?” he asks, brushing his fingers against hers as she returns his flask, and she starts again at the spark of attraction between them whenever they touch. He does it on purpose, she thinks. 

She shakes her head in answer, working up the courage to say something, though she’s entirely uncertain what it is she wants to say. The plaintive cries of the Lost Boys echo in the distance, a mournful soundtrack to her internal conflict. She’d wondered, that first night, how the others could sleep through it. The answer, she learned, was quite simple; they couldn’t hear it. 

“You already know,” she finally blurts, gazing into his eyes for a moment, searching for understanding.

“Know what?” he says, the hint of an amused smirk on his face at her abrupt outburst.

“You asked me, earlier, who I am. You already know. You said it yourself on the beanstalk. I’m an orphan. That’s what I had to admit to unlock the map.”

“Ah,” he replies, casting a quick glance at David and Mary Margaret snuggled together in sleep under the lean to. “I imagine you had to admit that in front of your parents.”

“Mary Margaret, yeah. How did you know?” She chances a quick look at them as well, guilt twisting her insides into knots. She hurt her mother with her admission, but that’s not the worst of it. The worst of it is that some small part of her enjoyed it, hoped it would make Mary Margaret back off a little, give her some space. 

“Because that’s what Pan would want. He loves his games, creating distance between us, making us confess hurtful things.”

She can feel the anger building within her, her mouth turning down in a scowl, a torrent of vitriol and blame ready to be unleashed into the jungle at the demon Pan and his psychological warfare. But then she feels Hook’s hand on her shoulder, a calming touch, and she resists the urge to shake it off as she looks into his eyes.

“Don’t let him get to you, love. He wants you to feel like an orphan. He wants you to forget you are all those other things too.”

“What things?” she wonders, anger turning to curiosity and confusion.

“A savior, a bail bonds person, the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, a mother, and… a tough lass,” he answers, raising his flask in salute before taking a swig.

She’d roll her eyes at him if he wasn’t being so damned earnest. But maybe that’s why she’s sought him out, because of all the members of this ragtag group, he’s the only one who’s always been honest with her. Somehow he always manages to be supportive and encouraging without Mary Margaret and David’s cloying optimism and endless hope speeches. Somehow, when he tells her she can do something, that she’s capable and strong, she believes him. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” she asks. “Weren’t you the one giving us the speech about needing our rest.”

“Aye. But I’m quite accustomed to long sleepless nights, I assure you.”

“You hear it too, don’t you?”

He gives her a sharp look and nods, a new understanding passing between them. Emma Swan is not the only one fluent in the language of the Lost Boys. Someday, when she’s not trying to rescue her son from a manipulative magical teenager or fighting ogres or evil queens, she’s going to find out Hook’s story. 

“We should try though. To sleep,” she says, rising from her spot and gesturing back toward camp.

“Why Swan, if you wanted to sleep with me, all you had to do was ask,” he murmurs, winking at her with that sinful look of his that makes her want to slap him and jump his bones at the same time. 

This time she does roll her eyes, but she can’t help but smile at the same time, shaking her head as she walks away, a quiet “Goodnight, Hook,” falling from her lips.


End file.
